


Goodnight Sweet Princes

by stonecoldsilly



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Another Book Club Banger, Gen, a short little sad bastard that haunted me so now it's your problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25785730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldsilly/pseuds/stonecoldsilly
Summary: the origins of 'Geralt Roger Eric de Haute-Bellegarde'
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49





	Goodnight Sweet Princes

**Author's Note:**

> for Larsen, whose fault this is, because this was In My Head and Would Not Leave It....

Eric was the first to arrive.

Geralt was seven years old, and he had no memories of anything other than the keep. He spent his days mostly in the kitchens, or struggling against the older boys with a wooden sword he could barely lift. He copied their movements as best he could, but Master Yurick hardly had time for him when he had no real strength yet. Evenings were spent in the library, copying out lines from the bestiaries in his best handwriting, which he would then be questioned about.

Eric was eight, a head taller than Geralt, and was strangely cheery. Most of the Witchers they saw were grizzled old men, more likely to nudge them aside with a boot in the halls than crouch down and speak to them, and Kaer Morhen was never exactly lively, but Eric had a very poor habit of waiting until the worst possible moment and then slyly whispering some little joke in Geralt’s ear that would inevitably set him to wheezing. They ended up with extra chores and belts round the ear more often than not, but Geralt never minded in the least.  
He showed Eric all the best places to climb, every secret he had weaselled his way in to, and then they were inseparable. 

A year later, Roger turned up. They were doing real sword work and were about to start alchemy lessons. Roger was ten years old, and very grown up. For the first few weeks, he was a real bore about everything and hardly wanted to do anything fun at all, preferring to sulk about and cry. Geralt and Eric could hear him at night, even if he tried to hide it, but it was hard not to when they all slept in the same room. Their teachers said he’d get over it eventually and gave him a cuff round the head when he whined instead of picking up his sword. He got used to the keep eventually, and settled in to the rhythms of the place, always bothering the real Witchers for stories about hunts, and egging Eric and Geralt to practice with him, where one of them would pretend to be a striga or a werewolf and then the other two could thrash him and crow in victory, boasting about what good Witchers they would be.

Eskel and HB arrived at roughly the same time, the next spring. Eskel was ten years old, and quiet, peering round at everything in a very judgemental manner that the boys well used to Kaer Morhen took great exception to. He and Geralt looked similar enough that they were mistaken for each other far too frequently. They were mortal enemies almost within the week.

HB was eleven, almost twelve, and grand with it, delighting in snitching when Geralt and Roger and Eric had snuck an extra pie from the dinner table, and sauntering off with Eskel and calling them ‘babies not worth talking to’ in his stupid stuck up accent. In retaliation, Eric eavesdropped on the masters talking and overheard that HB’s real name was ‘Haute-Bellgarde’, which of course meant that they took great delight in greeting him as ‘Haute-Bellend’, and as many variations as they could think of. 

Thus the lines were drawn, and the keep boys and the new ones divided themselves, and never mixed.

Relations were frosty between the two groups, Geralt and Roger and Eric on one side of the shared room, and Eskel and HB on the other. Occasionally spats would break out, a little too much wallop in the practice ring, or the odd pinched alchemy ingredient making its way into someone’s bed.

This state of affairs continued for some time, until Roger bothered one of the more vicious Witchers for a story at the wrong time and ended up bloodied for it. Eskel had been walking past, and caught the whole thing, and dragged Roger away when he had been left on the floor. He was so honestly outraged about it that it caught Geralt quite off guard, and they wound each other up in shared fury and vast complicated plans for revenge. Even HB got drawn into the circle. It was terrible form for a fully grown and experienced Witcher to turn on a trainee, especially for something as innocent as asking a question. 

Eric found them at it and demanded to be let in on the plan as soon as he heard what had happened. They plotted well into the night, arbitrary divisions meaningless in the face of a greater threat. 

When Roger was well enough to walk again, they used him as a lookout. Eric and HB created a huge diversion in the main hall by setting off some of the training bombs they used, filled with ink instead of chemicals. Eskel and Geralt slunk round the outside of the keep walls and climbed into the bastard’s window, and threw everything they could into the moat, even his bed.

After that shared adventure, and the shared punishment that swiftly followed, they were all fast friends, and their room was so often full of raucous laughter in the middle of the night that Vesemir threatened to have them separated if they didn’t keep it down. 

…

‘They would have made excellent Witchers.’ said Eskel, a week after the Trial of Grasses, when they could both manage the walk out of earshot of the other Witchers. They were the last two left.

‘Vesemir won’t let me.’ Said Geralt. ‘Said it sounded ridiculous.’ 

‘We’ll remember them anyway.’ Eskel said, staring over at the unmarked cairns. 

Geralt didn’t answer, but he nodded.

They stood there a while together, looking at the graves in silence as night fell and the first flakes of snow fell to the ground.

...

**Author's Note:**

> yet another book club inspired bastard, now inflicted on you instead of me :]


End file.
